


Chasing pavements

by dracogranger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogranger/pseuds/dracogranger
Summary: It's the summer of 1997, and nothing will ever be the same. The Dark Lord is out for Draco's blood after his failure to kill Albus Dumbledore. As a result, he's placed under the protection of the Order of the Phoenix. During that time, Hermione begins to understand how little she really knows of Draco, and that's only confirmed further when they're forced to go on the run together in the most difficult of circumstances. In hiding from the Death Eaters, separated from their friends and allies, time is against them and night by night, they discover things about one another that they never knew were possible.Dramione, Deathly Hallows AU.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 22
Kudos: 50





	1. Some nights (Draco)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to everyone reading and welcome to this fic! We'll be co-writing this fic and change up point of views. I'll be writing Draco and my co-writer will provide the Hermione chapters. We'll be attempting to name the chapters of this fic after songs, so this one goes out to fun's Some Nights. Of course, the fic title Chasing Pavements is a reference to the lovely song by Adele. I hope everyone enjoys & is having a great day!

From afar, Draco could see the lights. He’d never seen the building before, of course, but strangely it was exactly what he had imagined. It was the complete opposite of Malfoy manor, that was for sure. There were no elaborate gardens. No peacocks running around, knee-height fences to stumble over when it was dark and no high fences around the gardens, if there were any at all. One of the few similarities would the presence of wards were probably all around the house, but Draco couldn’t sense the presence of magic yet. They weren’t on the premise yet.

“Draco,” Snape called over his shoulder. “Get a move on. We can’t afford to be tracked and caught now.”

That sounded much more familiar already. Exasperatedly, Draco sighed and brought up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as though that would do anything to cure the lingering headache that he’d been stuck with for a couple of days already. Arguably, the headache was the person telling him to move along. Snape was the kind of person that any person could only handle small doses per day of. Draco had been stuck with the Potions Master ever since they fled the scene and lost Bellatrix and the others, though. That was when Snape harshly reminded him that he failed his task and that the Dark Lord better not find him, because it wasn’t going to end well for him. And because Snape made an Unbreakable Vow, he’d been hiding Draco since and lying to the Dark Lord about it.

Draco hadn’t asked what Snape told the Dark Lord, and subsequently the other Death Eaters and his parents. The thought crossed his mind that maybe Snape had said that he was dead, but they would know that was a lie right away: he could be tracked through his Dark Mark, and the Mark was still active. Perhaps the best excuse had been that Draco fled the scene at the first opportunity. It was realistic because that was how they thought of him – that he was a worthless coward - and Snape would never get any blame. He merely did what the child, as they called him, couldn’t do.

Well, the worthless coward and the blood traitor made a great pair, Draco thought sarcastically as they approached the newest hide-away that Snape had picked out for him. As it turned out, Severus Snape was a liar and a blood traitor. It figured. Snape had been siding with the Order of the Phoenix since the start of the war. Not to give information to the Death Eaters, but to give them information about the Death Eaters. When Draco exasperatedly asked ‘but why?’ he’d been told it was none of his business. Whatever the case be, the Potions Master almost lost his double-triple spy status when he killed Dumbledore, but apparently some of the wiser (if there was any such thing) members of the Order of the Phoenix had such blind faith in Dumbledore’s faith in Snape that not even killing the old man was too much of an issue.

Idiot Gryffindors. Anyone with an inch of self-preservation would not have any faith in Severus Snape (or Albus Dumbledore, for that matter) and his clean conscience. He killed a man. Alas, he killed a man so Draco didn’t have to do it and subsequently kept him alive. He couldn’t hold too much grudges against him for that reason. What he hold a grudge about, however, was where Snape decided it was best to hide him for a while.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure who had lost it more: Snape for thinking it was a good idea, or Molly and Arthur Weasley for actually agreeing with it. Vaguely, Draco remembered an incident between Arthur Weasley and Lucius in Flourish and Blotts. Of course, that was also when Lucius slipped Arthur’s daughter (Ginevra?) the horcrux-diary to open the Chamber of Secrets. Realistically, Molly and Arthur Weasley should not let any Malfoy in their home ever.

Yet here they were. Draco could feel the surge of magic as they passed through the wards that had been placed around the strangely-built house in front of them. Snape had told him where they were after apparating earlier: Ottery St Catchpole, in Devon. Draco had never heard of it. So far, what he got of Ottery St Catchpole was hills and meadows. It looked quite peaceful. Perhaps it was in peace time, he thought. It made the ideal place to fly around and play some quidditch. The muggles, who no doubt lived in Ottery St Catchpole as well, wouldn’t even see it. There were no houses around the Weasleys’ residence that Draco had seen from where he had walked.

Snape knocked on the front door of the house. Draco stood still behind him and looked up at the building. He could count five chimneys at first glance and figured that whenever they needed another room, they must just have built it on top of the existing structure. To a muggle it must look like it was about to collapse, but it was clearly held up with magic. It was a very strange building, but it didn’t seem to bother Snape at all.

They heard footsteps at the other end of the door and seconds later, Draco heard a voice that he assumed belonged to Mrs Weasley. “Who is it?” She sounded nervous, but he figured that was natural considering the hour that they arrived at and the current circumstances in the wizarding world. But then again, a Death Eater wouldn’t exactly knock on the door. They would come crashing through the roof. And surely their wards would hold, Draco thought, so a Death Eater wouldn’t be able to find them at all.

Other than the two standing at her door, that was.

“Molly, it’s Severus,” Snape replied. He looked aside at Draco briefly, the kind of glance that Draco couldn’t interpret if he tried. “I have him with me.”

Promptly, the door was opened after what sounded like multiple locks being undone. The logic on that escaped Draco. Snape stepped in first, passing by Mrs Weasley, and Draco followed him after looking at Mrs Weasley briefly who was standing by the door. He stood still half next to and half behind Snape like a child hiding behind one of his parents and folded his arms over one another uncomfortably. A first look around made him conclude he was standing in the Weasleys’ kitchen, which was also the dining room if the table with a bunch of chairs standing there was anything to go by. It smelled like someone had just cooked in there and had just done laundry as well. Neither Draco could relate to, because at home House Elves did all that and he didn’t come nearby the creatures.

Mrs Weasley shook hands with Snape before averting her gaze to him. When she spoke, however, her words were directed at Snape. “Severus, what have you done to him? He looks like he hasn’t slept well or had a good meal in days,” she observed crisply before moving in the direction of the kitchen counter. “Do you want some soup, dear?” she asked. “I made extra because I knew you were coming tonight and that you may be hungry.”

Not usually one not to have a witty remark at the ready, Draco felt awkward and uncomfortable when Mrs Weasley addressed him like that, if she was at all. No one called him _dear_ and especially not someone whose resistance leader he tried killing multiple times. He looked at Snape, who looked back at him and gestured in the direction of Mrs Weasley.

When he still didn’t speak, Snape sighed exasperatedly. “Draco, for the love of Merlin, you’ve been whining to me for days. I know you can reply for yourself, so do it.” 

“Yes, thank you, Mrs Weasley,” he said eventually.

She turned around to smile at him. “Have a seat at the table, dear, and make yourself comfortable. I’ll show you to your room once you’ve eaten. It’s always better to sleep with a full stomach.” She looked over at Snape then. “Will you be joining him for dinner, Severus? There’s still plenty left.”

To Draco’s surprise, Snape was actually kind to her. “No, thank you, Molly,” he replied. “I ought to get going or it might get suspicious. Wormtail keeps asking me where I keep disappearing to. It smells delicious, though. Perhaps another time.” Maybe, Draco figured, it was just impossible to be unkind to a woman like Molly Weasley. No one was that kind. No, no one should be that kind.

Snape turned his gaze to Draco then, calculating and concerned like Draco had seen it be the entire school year. He felt inclined to throw another temper tantrum at Snape because people looking at him like that made him very tired, but it hadn’t helped throughout the school year and he doubted that it would now. He spent the year repeating that he was fine, that he didn’t need help, that nothing was wrong with him and that he could do it and now here they were. Perhaps Snape should be the one throwing a temper tantrum at him for all his bullshit.

“Behave yourself, Draco,” Snape said eventually. “I know this situation is far from ideal for you, but this is the best we can do. Don’t screw it up.”

Draco looked aside to look at Snape briefly and shook his head then. “I’m not stupid enough to screw this up,” was all he said.

Clearly, Snape thought that Draco didn’t like this. He didn’t, that was for sure, but he was also completely aware that this was the best option for him for the other alternatives were worse. Hiding from the Dark Lord in a place with a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in and a kind woman giving him soup to eat was better than staying in abandoned places where wards had hastily been put around and eating Snape’s disgusting leftovers.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Snape said.

Draco made his way over to the kitchen table slowly and choose the seat as far away from the kitchen counter and Molly Weasley as possible as Snape approached Molly. He heard them speak softly, but he couldn’t understand the words they were saying. He also didn’t want to eavesdrop, so he tried not to try it. Instead he extracted a bottle of water from his bag and took a few slow sips. Afterwards he put it down in front of himself, leaned back on the chair and closed his eyes.

He heard Mrs Weasley and Snape say goodbye as the latter left and the former locked the door again. He was officially left in the Order headquarters. If they weren’t entirely convinced that he was a child in over his head they just chanced leaving a Death Eater here, so they must be sure, Draco thought. He personally wasn’t so sure. If he had a chance at finding out information and running back to the Death Eaters at hopes of redemption, he may just. But who wouldn’t? He didn’t want to be seen as a blood traitor and spent his days with the Weasleys. He wanted to go back to his parents and be useful to the cause. He wanted to prove they were wrong, even when they clearly weren’t. 

“Draco, honey,” Mrs Weasley spoke, and Draco’s eyes flew open. “Would you rather go to bed first and have some food afterwards? You seem very tired.” The words didn’t at all sound judgemental, whereas Draco felt like she should make him feel bad for potentially making her warm up soup for nothing.

“No, thank you, Mrs Weasley,” he was fast to say, almost stumbling over his words. “I’d really rather eat first, if that’s not too much of a burden.”

Molly Weasley studied him briefly with the gaze of someone who didn’t know what she was seeing but was determined to figure it out. It made Draco incredibly uncomfortable and made him want to fold his arms over one another defensively. After a moment it passed and Mrs Weasley smiled. “Of course not, dear. You’re never a burden here. And your soup has just been warmed up.”

Draco highly doubted that, but he found it wisest not to comment. He watched with tired eyes how Mrs Weasley moved back to the stove and filled an entire bowl with the soup from the pan on the stove. It looked to Draco like she had made soup for weeks with a pan as big as that. She got a spoon from a drawer and headed back over to him to hand it over.

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley,” he thanked her politely as he tried smiling. He blew on the soup in hopes of cooling it down before he took a small sip and was pleasantly surprised by the taste. Apparently Mrs Weasley didn’t need House Elves to make good soup. “This is really nice, Mrs Weasley,” he tried complimenting her awkwardly.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, still standing by the table. Instead of walking back into the kitchen, like he expected her to, she took a seat in front of him. She folded her hands over one another and put them upon the table before taking him in again and smiling. “When you’ve had enough, I’ll take you up to your room,” she said. “We have a full house, but we moved some things around so you could have a room of your own. You’ll take Fred and George’s room. You can also borrow some old clothes from the twins. Bill, Ron and -” she paused briefly before she continued, “and the others don’t have your height and Severus said you only managed to bring a small amount of your own clothes.”

That was accurate enough, albeit Snape didn’t quite know how much Draco managed to bring. With the knowledge that he may have to flee the scene and wouldn’t exactly have time to pack, he researched a charm that would allow him bring loads of stuff in a small bag. He landed on the Extension Charm, which had turned out to be quite useful. He had brought books, notebooks, potions and clothes alike in the small bag that he carried with him at all times but was only ever seen taking out a bottle of water, so it seemed that no one was the wiser.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said. “Thank you, Mrs Weasley. That really helps.” That was when he paused to take another spoonful of the soup, which was just as good as it had been with the first few sips. He wondered if all of Molly Weasley’s cooking was this good. “Is there anything I can do to return this favour somehow?” he wondered. “I feel very uncomfortable asking this of you. I don’t know how any of your family members agreed.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Draco,” Mrs Weasley reassured him. “If you want to help out in any way, I have just the chore for you. Severus told me you’re excellent at brewing potions when you set your mind to it. Could you help us out with that, dear?” Draco nodded, and Molly continued. “Arthur should be home soon. He collected some ingredients on his break, so I’ll look into what would be most useful for you to brew for us. But only when you feel rested enough to do it.”

Draco opted not to get into feeling rested, because he doubted he was going to anytime soon. He hadn’t slept well since last summer and by now he had given up on it ever happening. When he fell asleep after hours of tossing and turning it didn’t last long and was disturbed by nightmares frequently. Being in a place he didn’t know probably wasn’t going to help him sleep much either.

“Is your husband still at work?” Draco asked, checking his heirloom watch habitually. He stiffened once he realized how much the watch was worth and how little the Weasleys clearly had to spend if their house was anything to go by. “It’s late.”

“It’s very busy at the Ministry, of course,” Molly replied. “Arthur got promoted last year. He’s the head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Rufus Scrimgeour created the office to make sure the panic surrounding Voldemort,” Draco flinched visibly, but Molly carried on, “isn’t taken advantage of by people who sell fake charmed objects or advertise about fake protective charms.”

Draco remembered his father making fun of Arthur Weasley for having the possibly most unimportant position within the entire Ministry of Magic. Apparently Rufus Scrimgeour recognized that the Weasleys were close to Dumbledore and tried to get into their good graces. It was all political, but that didn’t mean he had to say it aloud and spoil Mrs Weasley’s obvious glee about the promotion. It must be nice to feel valued, he guessed.

“That’s wonderful,” he told her as he tried smiling again. “He must be doing important work if he’s still not home at this time.”

Mrs Weasley smiled again. “That’s very kind of you to say, Draco. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

His soup was getting cold, Draco registered absent-mindedly. And with his stomach in knots like it had been for over a year now, he also knew he wasn’t going to be able to empty the bowl. Even if he had complimented Mrs Weasley on the food as soon as he tried it, he worried regardless that she may think he didn’t like it enough to finish it. Perhaps he was worried about everything because he didn’t want to give them any reason to kick him out. If they kicked him out he had a problem in the form of the Dark Lord wanting his blood. Better to be friendly.

Eventually, he had to cave in and admit he couldn’t finish the bowl of soup. Mrs Weasley didn’t seem to take offence to that. With a seemingly handy non-verbal spell she let the bowl be rinsed in the sink and lead him up the stairs to the room that she said had been Fred and George’s. There were two beds in the room, some boxes standing to the side and the room’s scent was a little odd, but it was obvious by the open window that Mrs Weasley had tried getting the scent out.

“You can find the clothes on the spare bed,” Mrs Weasley said as she walked in first, gesturing at the bed that wasn’t made yet. Draco saw multiple piles of clothes, mostly with bright colours that would not in any way fit him. “I laid out a few of everything, since I didn’t know what you most needed. But you’re welcome to use everything. That’s what the clothes are for. Do you sleep with the window open or closed, dear?”

“Closed, please,” Draco replied as he moved into the room slowly. The bed looked oddly comfortable and he felt ready to collapse in it. He watched as Mrs Weasley closed the window and made her way back out of the room then.

“The bathroom is down the hall if you want to freshen up, Draco,” she told him as she lingered in the doorway. “Sleep however long you want to. I’ll make sure the others are quiet when they wake up. If you want some food, you can come downstairs and I’ll help you find it.”

“Thank you,” Draco replied, and this time the smile felt like it came genuinely. “I really appreciate it, Mrs Weasley. Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“It’s not a problem, dear,” she reassured him again. “Good night. I’ll be downstairs for a little while longer if you need anything.”


	2. Only the young (Hermione)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, we're back with another chapter. The title on this one is a shout to Taylor Swift's Only The Young, which felt very fitting given the general atmosphere surrounding Deathly Hallows of resistance against a regime. We hope that you enjoy the chapter, and that everyone is looking after themselves during the current state of things worldwide.

Hermione wasn’t sleeping well. She’d left behind her childhood home with the awareness that there was no going back on a morning in late June. When she’d arrived at the Burrow far earlier than her usual summer arrival, looking bruised around the eyes, Ron had been waiting for her, forewarned by the letter that she’d sent. He hadn’t asked exactly what she’d done right then or what had happened. For once, he hadn’t said anything at all, put his arm around her shoulders and guided her into the house, letting the door shut behind them.

That had been a few nights ago; Hermione had been sharing a room with Ginny ever since. Ron had told her, uncharacteristically seriously, that she was always welcome at the Burrow. Mr and Mrs Weasley had reacted similarly; they hadn’t asked too many questions, and it had made her feel guilty for the ongoing thoughts at the back of her head about what they were going to actually do this year. Hogwarts wasn’t and couldn’t be part of the plan any longer. Not only that, but Hermione was thinking of Harry, of how long it would be until he could be brought away from the Dursleys.

The Trace, the tracking for underage magic, was something that couldn’t be easily evaded, and it meant that the Order were making plans. So were Hermione and Ron, forming contingencies for when Harry arrived, for when they would inevitably have to leave. A borrowed tent for them to sleep in. A stack of books, like old companions to sit with by a fire, full of knowledge. _Other_ books, far darker and containing information about Horcruxes. A number of questions that Hermione couldn’t answer, asked herself in the night hours, one most significant.

_How are we going to do this?_

During the daytime, Hermione could absorb the warmth of the Weasley household (if with thin notes of tension strung underneath, like the uneasy vibration of _war_ never quite fell silent) and let it temporarily soothe the things that felt like they were eating away at her. She could sit with Ron and Ginny and talk over tea and toast in the morning, and watch Mrs Weasley alternate between busily preparing and tearing up over the upcoming wedding. She could help feed the chickens or be put to a chore around the house to keep her hands busy. It was a distraction that cleared her head more effectively than anything more complicated would have done.

With that said, Hermione had come downstairs that morning and they’d all been told by Molly to keep the noise down because someone else had arrived at the Burrow last night. Hermione had glanced up from her cup of tea when she’d settled at the dining table, mildly curious. Ron’s reaction was slowed down by the rate at which he was shovelling breakfast into his mouth, a habit that hadn’t faded over the years. Ron’s eventual question was an unwary one. Someone being at the Burrow nowadays usually meant something to do with the Order or something to do with the upcoming wedding. “Who’s here, Mum?”

Molly’s response wasn’t anything that they could have predicted. “Severus-“ Ron’s face did a strange sort of grimace, as though he wanted to react further and barely checked it in front of his mother, “-arrived late last night with Draco Malfoy, who will be staying here with us for the time being.”

It was a matter of fact statement, as though everything about it was already set in stone, and Hermione had the novel experience of briefly watching Ron turn an interesting shade of puce with shock. She, on the other hand, reacted with something different: shock, yes, but resignation quickly thereafter. Of course Molly would agree to take Draco in. She took in everyone who in her view might need a place to go.

Ron, however, wasn’t quite so sanguine about the matter. “Malfoy? Here?” he sputtered, glaring at his mother. “Why here? Why can’t he go somewhere else?”

That was a mistake and Hermione knew it from the minute she caught the change in expression on Molly’s face. “Because your father and I agreed that it was safest for him to stay here,” she said, voice firm and unmistakably steely. “And I expect you to behave yourself, Ronald Weasley. He’s just a boy and You-Know-Who is out for his blood. He’s staying here and that’s the end of it.”

Ron evidently understood the warning in his mother’s tone, having spent too many years getting well-acquainted with it. Instead, he glowered darkly down at his plate and resumed eating in silence. Hermione knew that he’d only hold it in until Molly left the room. Sure enough, he waited until she was out of earshot and leaned over, words annoyed. “Just a boy? He’s not just a boy, he’s an enormous git who’s only interested in saving his own skin, _and_ he’s a bloody Death Eater.”

She’d expected this much, at least. “Whatever he is, Ron, I think he’s been punished enough,” she pointed out softly. “We don’t know what Voldemort would do to him. He was supposed to kill Dumbledore, and he didn’t.”

“Because Snape did it for him!” Ron’s voice was exasperated, as though he was the only one seeing sense in the situation, cheeks faintly red with aggravation, clashing with his hair. “Did you forget what his dad did to Ginny by slipping her that bloody diary? Then he spends the whole year trying to kill Dumbledore as well? We can’t trust him.”

“Perhaps not, but I certainly don’t wish him tortured or dead either,” Hermione said severely. “And neither would you, if you’d stop for a second and think with your head instead of your temper. We can’t afford to react based on grudges from school any more. It’s too dangerous.”

Ron shook his head. “I don’t understand you. Look at what he’s done. Have you forgotten what he thinks of you, what he’s said and done?”

Hermione exhaled sharply, took a sip of tea before responding. “Forgotten? Hardly. But do I find it useful in the present moment? _No_.” She shrugged her shoulders, more than a little irritated by the implication. “Do you really think he’d choose to be here if he had any other option? He isn’t stupid, Ron.” Ron made a rude noise in response that made very clear his opinion of Malfoy’s intelligence, one that made her glare at him. “I don’t have the mental capacity to be thinking about being called names at school. We need to stay focused on what we should be doing.”

She hadn’t had much hope for the effect of those words on Ron, who was pig-headed even on his better days, but he _did_ at least lower his voice. “I’m not saying I want the ferret murdered for the sake of it, but I definitely don’t want him here. You have to admit, Hermione, it’s going to be twice as hard to plan anything with him around, and it was already difficult enough.”

That was a point that Hermione had considered, and she contemplated it for a minute while she drank some more tea. “There’s only so much we can do without Harry anyway,” she concluded quietly. “Malfoy being here doesn’t change that.”

Ron shot another look at the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar. “That’s true. I reckon my mum’s already onto us as well. You wait. Give it a few days and she’ll corner one of us, and then Malfoy will be the least of our worries.” The words were spoken sagely, with the air of someone who knew exactly what to expect when it came to his mother.

Hermione winced. She’d known that would be a problem too, but there really was no solution to Weasley persistence, or so she’d learned. The expression, however, didn’t deter Ron from returning to the previous topic: Malfoy. Exhibit A of Weasley stubbornness.

“Everything else aside, I don’t want you or Ginny anywhere near Malfoy.”

“Excuse me?”

Annoyed by the assumption that Ron got any say in the matter, Hermione gave him a cool stare until Ron inevitably felt prompted to defend himself.

“Well, I don’t! He’s been terrible to you.”

At any other time, Ron’s dogged determination to look out for her and Ginny might have been less irritating. Right then, however, it succeeded only in proving that he hadn’t listened. “Did you even _hear_ a word I just said?”

Praying for patience, Hermione set the tea that had been curled between her hands down on the table. “Ronald,” she said, with sweetness that he’d learned to be nervous of, rightly so. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m quite capable of looking after myself? More to the point, you’ve been on the receiving end of Ginny’s Bat-Bogey Hex. I don’t think she’s got much of an issue either, do you?”

She gave him a few seconds to remember the occasions where that applied, flicked an eyebrow humourlessly upwards in a question which his slumped shoulders answered without words. “Exactly. Women’s rights didn’t advance by several centuries for me to faint and swoon while you duel for my honour. I’ll hex you myself if you try and that will last a lot longer than you want it to.” If the words held a sarcastic edge, Hermione didn’t check it. They had to get this ironed out now, or it might come up again later.

Ron held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, you’re still terrifying, and I won’t curse Malfoy for looking at you funny.” He paused, then muttered, “ _Probably_ ,” barely under his breath, but kept his eyes wide and innocent. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” she responded dryly, opting to reach for the teapot in the middle of the dining table and refill her cup. The tone faded when she spoke again, more seriously. “Malfoy isn’t going to want trouble or to cause any. Here is probably far safer than where he was.” She let the words sink in, because the fact was that there were no other known Death Eaters as young as Draco Malfoy; something the Order had discussed in hushed voices when they thought others couldn’t hear. They didn’t know enough to make judgements.

There was some knowledge that they shouldn’t _want_ to have directly, especially not living under the eyes of one of the darkest wizards in history. The Horcruxes themselves were proof enough of that.

_Who knows what happened to him?_

That apparently occurred to Ron as well at long last, and in an exchanged glance that communicated how unsettling the thought was, he at last seemed to realise this wasn’t a discussion where stubbornness would win him any points.

Hermione took the opportunity to change the subject, knowing from experience that Ron would only continue to get wound up if they stayed on the topic of Malfoy. “While we’ve got a minute by ourselves, I _also_ thought we could discuss how we’re going to remind Harry that he can’t run off without us.”

If Ron had been mildly humorous a moment before, there was nothing left of that in his expression now, Quidditch callused hands folded together. “D’you really think he’ll try?” It was clear that the words were spoken more out of hope than realistic expectation. He confirmed Hermione’s thoughts when he answered his own question. “Of course he will, the stupid git.” The insult carried a tone of worry that was obvious.

The agreement that followed was prompt. “Yes, quite. So let’s figure out how we’re going to make sure he doesn’t sneak past us some night with the Cloak once the Order finalises the plan to get him here.”

Even if they couldn’t agree on Draco Malfoy, not remotely, they could at least work together on that.


	3. Never say never (Draco)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco undoubtedly claimed he would never help Hermione Granger with anything, and now certainly is. Never say never.

Just as Draco had expected, sleeping at the Burrow was difficult. He slept a couple of hours on and off. When he couldn’t sleep, he either got his notebook to write an update or a book to make him feel sleepy again. When he inevitably had to give into getting up from the bed the next midday, he made sure to check where the other Weasleys were before sneaking into the bathroom and again before sneaking downstairs. Yes: he was avoiding the other residents of the house and that didn’t bother him. They surely didn’t want him here and he didn’t want to start anything, so it was easiest to stay away.

He spent most of his midday brewing potions with Mrs Weasley watching curiously, who declared she’d never been as good at Potions as he seemed to be. He conveniently had a nap that lasted from six until eight pm, and had dinner alongside Mr Weasley when he got downstairs again. The others were upstairs. When he headed to his room after dinner he read another book and tried sleeping again, only to be woken by nightmares around two in the morning.

The walls felt like they were closing him in, so Draco got up from the bed and left the room, closing the door behind him softly. He could do with a glass of water to calm down, he thought. The stairs creaked a little as he walked, making him grimace to himself. He hoped he wasn’t waking anyone. Someone may assume he was sneaking out, which was a stupid assumption because he was dressed in a red T-shirt and black sweatpants and didn’t have any stuff with him. Entering the kitchen, he was slightly surprised to see that the lights were still on. That, however, was when he recognized a figure sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of them.

Draco hovered in the doorway briefly before he made himself recognize that this person had heard his footsteps and was probably waiting for someone to walk in. Turning around now was weirder. That he would be facing a muggleborn witch with his Dark Mark directly on display had to be beside the point. He wasn’t a Death Eater anymore. They were no longer enemies. It should be that simple.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said politely as he set foot into the kitchen and directly made his way towards the cupboards to find a glass to fill. “I’m just going to grab a glass of water and I’ll be out of your hair.” Her hair, which was disturbingly even more bushy than usual. What had she been doing with it? Did she just not bother to comb it anymore?

“Malfoy, you don’t have to apologize for wanting a glass of water,” Granger replied. “Top right hand cupboard, incidentally. No one expects you to stay in your room the whole time.” That didn’t mean they didn’t want him to, but Granger did sound relatively friendly. It was a strange sensation. “You didn’t disturb anything. I was just enjoying a cup of tea when I couldn’t sleep. Do you -” She paused briefly, and Draco could feel her eyes on him as he moved, “Do you want some tea?”

“No, thank you,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the kitchen counter as he moved towards the cupboard that she indicated. He got the glass that he’d been looking for and filled it with water slowly. Still standing with his back to Granger, he took a long sip, swallowed it and turned around then. 

Studying her, it suddenly occurred to him. The bushy hair was from all the tossing and turning that she’d done in bed prior to getting up. Her inability to sleep and the fact that she was sitting by the kitchen table of her best friend’s parents at the middle of the night implied that she was worried and that she couldn’t be at home, much like himself. Who would have thought he would ever have something in common with Granger. That was very irritating. 

“I can go,” he said after a couple of seconds of an awkward silence. “Upstairs, I mean. I know you don’t want me around. You shouldn’t want me around. And you’re overthinking, which I know because -” He stopped himself there and forced himself to take a couple of sips from his water. He knew that it was late and that he was tired, but that didn’t mean he had to force his observations about Hermione Granger on Hermione Granger. It was too late to take it back, so he continued. “When you’re thinking too hard, you pull that face. I’ve seen you do it a lot during Potions the past year.”

Thankfully, Granger didn’t comment on the fact that he could recognize something from her from observation alone. The truth had that Draco actually had a lot of free time once he decided his studies weren’t worth doing, so what he had been doing in class wasn’t paying attention to the teacher. Slughorn had been a pathetic excuse for a teacher anyway, favouring Potter as blatantly as McGonagall and not doing any good teaching whatsoever, so Draco found himself doing a bunch of other things during Potions class.

Instead, however, Granger said something that Draco didn’t see coming: she opted for honesty. “I’m wondering how I’m going to accomplish something that might be impossible,” she said. “I’m trying to think ahead for every eventuality in a situation I can’t possibly predict, and where there will be consequences for failure.”

Granger pushed a hair away from her face and wrapped her hands around the cup of tea to take a slow sip. As she did, Draco considered her words and came to the fast conclusion that it was really just a complicated way of saying that her and her friends wanted to defeat the Dark Lord. That meant they were going after Horcruxes, which was an insane plan if Draco ever heard one. They thought Potter was the Chosen One, meant to kill the Dark Lord, and would try to make sure he got to do it.

He pressed his lips together briefly and considered what he could say. As it turned out, it wasn’t much. “That’s a plan doomed to fail,” he said. “But you already know that, don’t you?” It was a true fact that Gryffindors had a knack for finding adventure and wanting to accomplish the impossible, but this was just ridiculous. 

“Yes, of course,” Granger replied with a sigh. “I recognize we’re not the best candidates to do it, but who else is going to volunteer?” She looked at him pointedly, as though asking him to volunteer. He liked to live a little too much to do any such thing. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it without getting ourselves and others killed, which is one of the main reasons I’m awake.” Quickly thereafter came the real reason why she’d been looking at him so pointedly. “But you’re not surprised. How much do you know?”

This was a new level of Gryffindor for Draco to deal with. Usually he assumed that their plans were stupid because they weren’t thought through: they acted on impulse and it looked bad for everyone involved. Now, however, it was thought through very thoroughly and while the risk assessment looked horrible they decided to do it anyway.

He answered the question regardless. “Different things than you do, I reckon.” He had lived at the Death Eaters headquarters, after all. “But you don’t need my help. You’ve already had help because clearly Dumbledore looked into it.” He waved his right hand as an indication. The way the old man’s hand looked obviously had to do with dark magic. Snape had said that Dumbledore only had months to live at best after what he’d done to himself. The implication that dark magic would do what Draco couldn’t do so far was meant to help motivate him, he guessed. 

He took another sip of his water and shot an absent-minded look around the kitchen then, as though he just realized something. “You’re not doing this on your own. It’s always the three of you thinking you need to be the heroes and solving problems after creating them.” Or so they thought. “But yet you’re the only one downstairs overthinking this mission. How’s that?”

Hermione sighed again and seemed to finish her cup of tea. “I’m not the only one worried,” she said. “I don’t believe that. I do believe that I’m the only one thinking of the practicalities. Where we’re going to sleep. How we’ll be getting food. The other two are thinking of destroying Voldemort, but not how we’re going to last long enough to do it.”

As someone who had been dragged up and down the countryside for a while, Draco could surprisingly relate to that. He’d been focused on trying to kill Dumbledore, but he’d also prepared for whatever may happen afterwards. That was why he brought a small bag and that was why he looked into the Extension Charm and practised it. He’d been prepared. He’d even practised drawing up wards in case he got away on his own and had no help.

Maybe that was why he tried helping her. Or maybe he tried helping her because it was obvious she was on her own trying to think of a grand plan to destroy one of the darkest wizards of all time.

“You’re either going to have to go shopping weekly under a disguise with muggle money or steal the food, dependent on where you are,” he said. “The time to stock up on muggle money is now, because you may not get to do it later. Other than that, you make a list of useful enchantments and you keep practising them. Enchantments for wards, for disguises, quick spells to stun someone or keep the quiet. Other than that? You treat it as a vacation. This is just a more desperate and more terrifying one.” Instead of landmarks and museums, it was going to be Death Eaters and Horcruxes.

Granger seemed to be relieved that someone else was thinking alongside her for a chance. Draco couldn’t really blame her. “I’ll try that approach,” she said.

And if she got all that organized, it was still Death Eaters and Horcruxes she was going to be dealing with. Draco had already concluded that Dumbledore did his, with a lack of a better word, research, but he doubted that the old man had all the knowledge that the trio needed and transferred all this knowledge to the trio before he tragically fell off the Astronomy Tower. Perhaps that was why the Dark Lord wanted him dead, Draco realized belatedly. Not because Dumbledore could defeat the Dark Lord, but because he was Potter’s most important helper in his Chosen One mission. With Dumbledore out of the way, Potter’s chances of failing were that much bigger. 

He sighed briefly. “If you do, shockingly, end up getting your hands on a Horcrux? Don’t be like Dumbledore. Don’t experiment with it. That thing was killing him. Destroy it and get rid of the remains as soon as possible.”

The slight frown in Granger’s eyebrows implied she was wondering what he really knew about Horcruxes. He absolutely hadn’t been bragging when he said he probably knew different things about Horcruxes than she did. He had a brief period where he was obsessed with Dark Arts, it was true, but it was nothing to brag about. Granger was clever enough to understand that whatever he decided to say was so important that he actually said it.

She got up from the kitchen table and made her way over to the kitchen counter, where she rinsed her cup with water and put it aside. “That’s advice I’ll gladly abide by,” she replied. “I’m not resigned to there being no hope just yet. Even if it’s a fool’s hope.” Then, she followed up her remark with something that Draco had never heard Granger say before: “Thank you, Draco. I won’t forget. Good night.” With that she left the kitchen, Draco’s eyes on her and on the spot she disappeared at for a long time afterwards.

Well, they were on the same side now.


	4. Hold back the river (Hermione)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Harry's eventual arrival at the Burrow, Hermione and Draco attend the wedding of Bill and Fleur. In the process, they have an eye-opening conversation about their perceptions of marriage, the past and the future.

The morning of Bill and Fleur’s wedding day had begun for Hermione with an insult from Ron’s Aunt Muriel, who had been in the process of plainly addressing everyone around her. _Bad posture and skinny ankles_ was relatively mild, enough that she was amused once the initial annoyance faded. The wedding itself was meant to be something special; but what it couldn’t take away completely was the fact that it was happening under the shadow of war, when the Order had lost one of their own only a few nights prior. Getting Harry safely out of Privet Drive had always been assumed to be dangerous, and they’d been proven right on that. The loss of Mad-Eye was something that made the wedding almost symbolic, a representation of the freedom and unity that they were fighting for.

In the days prior to the wedding, Hermione had had something unexpected to deal with, tentatively approached by Mrs Weasley. “Hermione, dear,” she’d begun. “With everyone coming to the house, Draco and Harry will both have to be disguised. Harry will be taking Polyjuice and passed off as a distant cousin, but it would be far too conspicuous if two of them popped up out of the blue.”

It turned out that the proposed solution was to have Draco alter his appearance and pretend to be her boyfriend and her date for the wedding. Once she said that Draco didn’t like her enough for them to make it convincing, she’d hesitated, and Molly had spotted it. “He’s a perfectly nice young man,” had been the response, and Hermione had thought back to their conversation in the kitchen. He’d helped her and expected nothing in return. She could do the same for him. Even so, it was a completely different angle to keeping Draco Malfoy safe than any of them might have imagined.

What didn’t make the entire thing easier was how much Ron had proceeded to sulk about it once he found out. Hermione hadn’t been remotely in the mood. She’d reminded him rather tartly that, “Honestly, Ronald, if you were actually planning to ask me yourself then I could understand it. Since the thought never crossed your mind until it was Malfoy I was going with? Please try to keep in mind that we have much bigger things to worry about and that it’s for a reason.” He’d quickly subsided after that, offered an apology, and things had been all right again, but it had tried Hermione’s patience.

When Hermione had first caught sight of Draco that morning, she’d hardly recognised him. Pale blond hair had been changed to a much darker shade of brown, and somehow it altered his features. He was striking and annoyingly, it was very noticeable even to Hermione. She’d waited until it was time for them to go outside and take their seats, been pleasantly surprised when he’d offered his arm out to her. He’d noticed that, of course, once she took it, but had refrained from making any sort of remark. She’d appreciated that, because Draco (unlike Ron, who she could still _feel_ glaring when he thought she wasn’t looking) wasn’t making things unnecessarily difficult.

Only minutes later, the ceremony started, and everyone turned to watch the bride make her entrance. Hermione quickly glanced in Bill’s direction first. She’d heard that grooms were commonly nervous, but she rather thought that he had all the assurance he needed of Fleur’s love; he was grinning from the moment he saw her. Fleur, on the other hand, was radiant and though she moved with her customary elegance, Hermione couldn’t help but think that she might be tempted to run towards the man at the other end of the aisle. It was as though no one else was there for either of them.

Once the ceremony concluded and everyone converged upon them to give their congratulations, wands were waved and the marquees that had been so carefully prepared rose perfectly into place. The main pavilion transformed the Weasleys’ familiar garden in a place where there were multiple tables and food set ready, the soft sound of music beginning to fill it, the space intended for the dancefloor clear as well. However briefly, Hermione was reminded of the Yule Ball, the last place that she’d had any real occasion to dance. _Ron was sulking then too._

Rather than focus on that thought, Hermione instead turned her attention to her company, the tulle skirt of the deep red dress that she wore shifting with the movement. “How are you doing?” she asked, and it was a genuine question, because Draco had slept later than she had and had been drinking coffee in the kitchen when she moved in and out of it that morning. There was a small smile to accompany the words, an indication that Hermione was indeed in a good mood as she regarded the scene of people clustered around Bill and Fleur.

Draco actually gave her something of a smile in return, something that made the faint dark circles still beneath his eyes far less apparent. “I’m awake and alive, I can’t ask for much more.” The cynical note to his voice didn’t escape Hermione, but all in all this was better than anyone might have expected of either of them in the past. Civility, or some semblance of it. “I’m fine. How are you?”

Hermione scrutinised him more closely at that, an attempt to ascertain whether he was sincere. _You’re overthinking it. He’s not who he was before._ And maybe that was part of the problem: she didn’t know what to expect any longer, and probably neither did he. “Just fine too, thank you,” she replied, a further smile showing that she appreciated the politeness, but understood the distinction of what fine could mean all too well. “I’ve never seen a wizarding wedding ceremony before. Are they all like that?” She wasn’t the sentimental type as a rule, but it didn’t mean she was incapable of appreciating it.

His voice was unmistakably dry in response, accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders. “Me neither. I reckon this was a combination of both French and English traditions, so this one must be quite specific for Fleur and Bill. They seem very happy.”

The observation made her turn her head to look at the couple. “They do, don’t they? Not a bad way to start off a lifetime together. Happiness, I mean.”

That was when Draco asked a question that was wholly out of character, at least from what Hermione knew of him; maybe because she was uncomfortably realising she really didn’t know much at all. “Do you ever want to get married?” he queried. As though sensing that she was about to ask _why_ he wanted to know such a thing, he provided an explanation right afterwards. “I was betrothed. They had the girl picked out for me. We were supposed to get married right after she graduated. At least that’s not happening now.”

Hermione knew that betrothals were a custom from the past between wizarding families from her reading for History of Magic, but _hadn’t_ been aware that the practice was still kept up. “That’s quite traditional,” she said. “I didn’t realise that your marriage would be arranged. I mean, it’s not going ahead now, but what about what you wanted?” It was a gentle enough line of questioning, clear that she’d let him change the subject if he didn’t want to get into it.

Draco glanced around them, as though checking that no one was eavesdropping, and then spoke more softly. “I’m the Malfoy heir,” he pointed out, voice low between them. “I don’t know if you noticed this about me lately, but my life is decidedly not about what I want. Everyone in my family was betrothed, my parents included.”

That was something else that Hermione hadn’t realised, and it was clear that Draco figured that much out. _The Malfoy heir_. Hearing it phrased that way put a different spin on it somehow, gave it weight. The Malfoys obviously possessed incredible wealth and prestige, but what Draco didn’t seem to have was freedom in some areas that she took for granted. He seemed to examine her, maybe expecting judgement, she didn’t know, but she listened when he spoke again. “I’m used to the idea that I wouldn’t get to choose who I’d marry, so I never put any thought into it.”

Surprisingly, Hermione could relate to that part. “I never really thought about it either, but my situation is very different to what yours was,” she admitted. She at least was allowed to choose for herself. “Were there other traditions you would have had to follow, besides that?”

“There were,” came his reply, but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate on them, and the reason why quickly became obvious. “Now I don’t exist any more. Unofficially disowned, blood traitor and all.”

Hermione had been aware of what Draco had given up through not killing Dumbledore, or so she’d thought. That he’d effectively cut himself off from the life he’d known in a single act of mercy was something that had never been quite so evident. To hear him refer to himself as a blood traitor, a term he’d once used towards others, was disconcerting in the extreme, because he’d been trying to keep himself and his parents alive. Before she could really react, he’d moved on, a matter of fact tone to his voice as he listed off what the expectations would have been. “If this was a normal situation, I’d have to marry well, take over the family company and manor and have an heir. But it’s not. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Hermione should have known that answering a question with a question wouldn’t work. It wasn’t really fair either, even if he was deflecting away from the previous topic. She could hardly blame him for not wanting to talk about what he’d lost. “Maybe it’d be different if I had someone I felt that strongly about, but as things stand, I’m not really thinking about anything like that. Relationships take a lot of work.” Not that she had much experience with them, and it was clear that he had some similar sort of thought, because he chuckled a moment later. It stung a little even though she didn’t want it to. She quickly set it aside. _You can’t assume what he’s thinking._

That was proven in the next moment, once Draco had absorbed what she’d said. “Do you reckon you ever will feel so strongly about anyone?” he asked, seemingly finding the idea foreign.

Hermione hesitated, dark curls settling against her shoulders as she turned her head “I don’t know. I’d have to meet someone who can handle me at my best and my worst to even consider the idea. That sort of thing seems a myth in itself, though, doesn’t it?”

Unlike others, who might have tried to persuade her that she’d be lonely, Draco seemed to have his own opinions on the matter. “It’s a myth to me. I don’t want to get married. It implies all kinds of things I’m not remotely comfortable with.”

That at least sounded honest to Hermione. “And now you don’t have to, or if you ever do, it’ll be your choice.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose then, clearly not warming to the topic. “My dreams don’t usually include that sort of commitment.”

Glancing back at him, Hermione’s voice was wry in response. “I’m not dreaming of a house and children either. There are too many other things I’d like to do first.” _If I live that long_ was her private thought, but she knew better than to say it out loud. She didn’t think she was the only one in this conversation to have had that kind of thought.

He raised his eyebrows at her, and it was still strange to see him with the darker colouring and without an infuriating smirk. “Waiting for true love, Granger? Is that the dream? Definitely a myth. Or do you want to become Minister for Magic before you marry?” There was a hint of humour to Draco’s voice, but the phrasing suggested he wasn’t really joking.

True love was a concept that made her pull a face, but the question _did_ make her think. “I’d like to be happy,” she said. “As for being Minister, it’s not as if I could do a worse job than Cornelius Fudge. I actually think I’d like to reform the judicial system, if I ever get the opportunity.” Yes, she’d thought about it, despite her words to Rufus Scrimgeour about wanting to do some good in the world rather than have a career in magical law. There was more than one way for her to do that. Tilting her head to examine him more closely, Hermione asked, “What about your dreams?”

That was another question that made Draco wrinkle his nose, and Hermione didn’t think that she was going to get a reply. He looked in front of him instead and stared at the dancing couples in front of them for a couple of seconds before he spoke again, seemingly changing the subject on purpose. “Since we’re supposedly dating, can I have this dance?” he requested, offering his hand to her.

Surprised, Hermione regarded him before schooling her expression and taking his hand with a softer, more uncertain smile. As they moved towards the dancefloor, she could see Ron just about glowering out of the corner of her eye, but she was distracted by Draco answering her; his voice still low and not meant for the hearing of others when she turned to face him. “As for my dreams, they often include either owning a small café or a book store and just going about my business.”

“Those sound like good dreams,” she said, looking up at Draco as they began to move. He was a good dancer, and she had no trouble following his lead; they moved well together, and it showed. For a few minutes at least to the soft refrain of the music, they could have peace or some imitation of it. She wasn’t really able to look anywhere but at him directly, held his gaze, once again struck by the fact that they couldn’t be more different, yet here they were.

The thought and the quiet were both shattered when the marquee suddenly went dark and a streak of light suddenly coalesced in the middle of the dancefloor. Instinctively, Hermione flinched backwards and rapidly moved to draw her wand, only stopped halfway by the fact that a familiar voice caused her to still, the realisation of who the Patronus belonged to. _Kingsley_.

_“The Ministry has fallen. The Minister for Magic is dead. They are coming.”_

Hermione’s pulse leapt into her throat. _They are coming._


	5. Clarity (Draco)

Strangely, dancing with Granger was the closest semblance to peace that he’d found since his father had been imprisoned the summer prior. It felt normal, somehow. He’d had dancing lessons when he was a child. It was an important part of a Sacred 28 upbringing. While he didn’t enjoy it usually because it was a necessity, in the case of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour’s wedding it was a way to pass time, mingle with the guests and hold up their facade of boyfriend and girlfriend, or at least two people dating. 

But the peace faded the moment that the marquee went dark and Granger stepped away. It felt as though she slipped out of his arms and out of his reach too, a ridiculous thought that made it clear how caught up in the moment he’d gotten. Dancing was too normal. This situation wasn’t. The streak of light that swiftly followed the darkness wasn’t either and Draco stepped away instinctively and followed Granger’s example by reaching out for his wand as well. It turned out to be unthreatening, though, merely a Patronus that for whatever reason could speak. It was a kind, calming voice that announced a message that was anything but calming.

_ “The Ministry has fallen. The Minister for Magic is dead. They are coming.” _

Of course, he’d known it was coming. A year prior he had dreams of being a part of the operation that would for once and for all overthrow the Ministry of Magic. Now his dreams were much smaller and much larger at the same time. To be left alone, to be able to help out with potion-brewing were small dreams, and for the war to end and for him to be left alone afterwards were big dreams. He really wanted that small café or bookstore, earn a decent profit and live a quiet life. 

They were going to have to wait. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw the groom and the bride reach out for each other, cling to each other, stare each other in the eye and hold on as though it was the last time they would ever get to do that. Time was going very slowly, as though the invitees to the wedding were moving in slow-motion. There was a ringing noise in his ears. Then Granger spoke, or yelled, and it was over.

Granger was still holding one of his hands, Draco registered absent-mindedly as her attempt as a sentence arrived to his hearing. He hadn’t realized she never let go. “Draco, you can’t be here, they’ll find -”

He wasn’t sure how her first priority was him. It really shouldn’t be. She ought to get her priorities in order. Seconds after the reason why was proven: the first dark-cloaked figure appeared out of thin air, mask present, and shot a spell at whatever person they spotted first. Panic was the obvious response, some screams in the marquee as the first invitees used the break of the anti-apparition spells and made a run for it by disapparating as well. Others were running through the marquee, Draco guessed to find whoever they wanted to disapparate with or fight together with, and within seconds the scene descended into chaos. 

Granger pulled him out of the line of fire, at that point literally because more Death Eaters started to appear and the first duels broke out. Draco didn’t turn to Granger, it would be utter stupidity to turn his back on the enemy now, but pulled her along closer to the side of the marquee while he raised his voice to talk to her. “They’ll find  _ you  _ if we stay here,” he said pointedly, well aware she would understand what he meant; as dead as he would be when he was found at the wedding of two Order members, so would she be with her blood status. “We have to go.  _ Now. _ ”

Potter and Weasley, undoubtedly Granger’s biggest concern, disapparated on the spot at the other end of the marquee. Draco imagined Ron fled the scene nearby the dancefloor when he saw Granger and him dance and went to talk to Potter about it, instead of staying nearby. A spell was thrown in their direction accompanied with the sound of broken glass and they both had to duck. 

Seconds later, he felt the familiar sensation of his body getting pulled away from the marquee without the immediate consent of his mind, but he adjusted his mindset quickly and focused on going wherever Granger would be taking the two of them, surprised in the back of his mind that Granger cared enough to take him with her. She could have left him behind just as easily. Probably easier. 

When they surfaced, they were undoubtedly in London. The streets were busy and no one was looking at them, but Draco felt they would soon. They were both very overdressed and needed to move. The side-street Granger picked to apparate them to would have seemed safe enough to her, but that was overlooking an obvious fact that she never had to think of before.

“It will be harder for them to find us here, at least for now. It’s a Muggle area. We need to find somewhere to sit down and figure out what we’re going to do, out of sight. A coffee shop or a pub will have to do,” she said, eyes on his.

Granger was shaking. Draco registered the fact as absent-mindedly as it seemed he’d registered all else since the talking Patronus in the marquee, but he did shrug out of his suit jacket and wrapped it over her shoulders. He wasn’t sure if it would offer much warmth and if the shivering had anything to do with being cold, but it was worth the try. His cheeks had flushed in comparison and his face felt far too warm.

Repeating her words in his mind snapped him out of his shocked state at last. “A coffee shop or a pub will have to do?” he repeated. “Hermione, are you mad? We can’t go sitting around somewhere in the muggle world. The Death Eaters will find us. I have the Dark Mark, remember? I’m very easily traceable. I am not putting both of us at risk.”

No, he would not find a pub or a coffee store. His Dark Mark made him a liability. Now that Granger had decided that  _ they  _ needed to be doing things,  _ they  _ needed to understand that much and find a place where they could hide between so many layers of protective charms not even the best Auror or Death Eater (the Aurors would be working for the Death Eaters now, so it was the same difference soon) could find them. However, he needed to do better than just tell her that her plan was bad. He needed to offer a plan of his own.

“There is a small forest nearby Hogsmeade. You can see it from a distance when you’re at the train station, so you must know it. Apparate us there. We should put up wards and set up camp and figure out where we go from there once we’re safe. We need to get behind protective spells as soon as possible.”

Granger’s eyes were still on his, his hand still in hers, and thankfully she needed no time at all to process the information she’d just gotten. “The Mark will act like a beacon,” she realized, looking down at his left forearm briefly. “We need to get out of here. We have to get you away.”

At this point he wasn’t sure what Granger was seeing when she was looking at him. The scared boy he’d been that got the Dark Mark and promised to kill Albus Dumbledore with the knowledge it was the only thing he could do if he didn’t want to lose his parents? Or perhaps the cynical man he’d become after that year, the year he turned seventeen indeed, when he was dragged places and kept in hiding by Snape until he was dropped off at the Weasleys as their newest project to fix? Either way he was undoubtedly her least wanted travel companion, but she wasn’t complaining. She wasn’t leaving him behind this time, either.

“Let’s go to the forest near Hogsmeade,” she told him softly before disapparating them for the second time in five minutes. 

He’d been more prepared that time than the last and he could actually visualize where they were going, but it was more nauseating to do it again regardless and he felt like he was going to be sick for a couple of seconds. There was no time for any of that, though. The moment the forest started to materialize in front of them Draco was pulled along deeper into the forest by Granger, who seemed to refuse to settle just at the edge of the forest and felt safer deeper into the woods. 

When she came to a halt they were still nearby the paths, but not quite in view of them, and definitely not close to the edge anymore. The space she indicated was mostly covered by trees. She finally let go of his hand and glanced aside at him.

“I’ll take this side if you take the other,” she said, drawing her wand again.

Draco drew his wand again and mirrored her movements. He started at the other end of the small clearance that Granger had picked to set up their camp and mirrored Granger as she moved as well, making sure they were walking in a circle as the protective spells were cast one by one.

_ Protego Totalum. Salvio hexia. Repello Muggletum. Cave Inimicum.  _

Granger had clearly done her research. Whether she’d done it before or after Draco urged her to felt very much beside the point. Whatever spell she cast, Draco followed her example, making sure his side was every bit as protected as hers. The both of them working on the spells meant the wards were up twice as fast in comparison to letting Granger do it alone, and he’d done his research as well. The spells formed a shield of some sort, visible only when a spell was added to it and tied together by magic. 

When the circle was finished and the shield was done, Granger added three more spells to the shield, including a Disillusionment Charm and Durability Spell.

For a second, Granger regarded their work critically.  “That should be enough, they’ll need refreshing periodically but it’ll hold with both of us having contributed,” she concluded before reaching out for her shoulder-bag. It wasn’t anything that was a nice accessory for a dress, but Draco assumed Granger was someone that always had the same bag with her just to be safe. That turned out to be a much better call than a nice accessory for a dress. 

Granger glanced inside of the bag, shook it and scolded when something fell down with a loud  _ thump.  _ She cast an Extension Charm on the bag, Draco realized, much like what he’d done with the bag he had with him at all times, currently shrunken down enough that it easily fit in one of the pockets of his pants. She was looking for an object inside of the bag, but Draco doubted it was whatever she’d just dropped. 

“I’ve got a tent with me, amongst other things. It’s enough room for both of us. We might as well sit down while we’re dealing with everything else,” she explained. She may have seen his face expression, he wasn’t sure, but it explained what she was trying to do. It didn’t explain why she didn’t just use a Summoning Charm, but seconds after she put her hand and then her entire arm inside of the bag and pulled out the tent she referred to. She put it down on the ground and it pitched itself. 

After a look around the perimeter, Draco followed Granger inside of the tent, walking into a living room area of some sort with a couch, two armchairs and a small table. He hated camping. Camping was for people who liked sharing rooms, thought hiking was a hobby and shared a sense of comradeship with whoever else was camping too. Camping in this case was made worse by his company. He could deal with small bits of Granger at the time. Granger all the time while sharing a space with her, on the other hand? Not so much, most likely. 

However, after the necessary reminder that they couldn’t sit down, have a coffee and discuss where to next, Granger had stepped up her game and Draco had to appreciate that much. She also brought a tent, whereas Draco would have used another solution. She was probably worried about her friends more than anything now, and Draco almost felt obliged to listen to those worries and try to reassure her. Living at the Weasleys’ house really made him feel unsure who he was anymore.

“Are you all right?” Granger asked while she walked to and sunk down on the couch. “That was quick thinking on your part. Thank you.” 

Draco decided to keep standing, arms folded over one another uncomfortably, and simply nodded at her words, opting not to get into if he was all right. “We’ll be fine here for a while. As long as we stay behind the wards we should be completely safe. We can steal an owl since we’re nearby a wizarding settlement anyway and reach out to your friends.” Granger seemed puzzled, so he added: “It’s probably for the better that we’re not together with the four of us. It means that if we’re found, we’re all found at once. That’s stupid tactics.”

It was especially stupid tactics considering what the three were trying to achieve. Draco couldn’t find it in himself to care about their mission, thought it was absolutely impossible and wanted nothing to do with it, but he did know they may be the only few people that knew enough to try it. If Harry, Ron and Hermione were all found at once their entire mission was over. The Death Eaters wouldn’t hesitate faced with three teenagers trying to sabotage their mission and attempting to kill their leader. 

After a short pause, Granger seemed to understand that too. “They’re looking for us, and for Harry and Ron. What you said makes sense. If the four of us are together and they find us, there’ll be no help we can call.” She seemed to take him in for a couple of seconds then, but clearly wasn’t thinking about him at all. “I’m going to hope that they have the sense to find somewhere remote and stay under cover for the night.”

“They are going to be fine,” Draco was fast to say. “While I am the first one to admit they have not always been the smartest wizards, they are clever enough to put up the enchantments, find cover and wait it out.” Or so he hoped, because the last thing he wanted was Granger dragging him through the country to find her friends.

Granger nodded again and seemed to slump against the couch. That was Draco’s cue to disappear for the foreseeable future. “I’m going to attempt to change this back,” Draco said, gesturing at his hair. He may not see himself, but he knew he didn’t look like himself and it felt weird. Now that they were safe and there was nothing else they could do but wait, he may as well take care of it.

“The bathroom is the room the most to the left,” Granger said, gesturing at it. She looked up at him for a couple of seconds longer, as though taking him in for one last time before he would be back to looking like himself again. 

“Thanks.” Draco took a few tentative steps in the direction Granger referred to, then paused and turned around to face her again. “And thank you. For -” Not leaving him behind in the marquee in the Weasley’s backyard, not even thinking twice about disapparating with him the second time and taking his advice? It was too much to say out loud, yet not nearly enough to explain what he meant. “You know.”

The only reply he got from Granger was a wan smile. That was enough for him. She did know.


End file.
